


Alone

by vix_spes



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-25
Updated: 2013-03-25
Packaged: 2017-12-06 12:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/735385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vix_spes/pseuds/vix_spes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mycroft believed that he was all alone and that no-one had noticed, he couldn’t have been further from the truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt at the Mycroft Meme on [brother_mine](http://brother-mine.livejournal.com); Was reading a wonderful fic the other day and one part stayed with me - Mycroft saying that he wasn't all Sherlock had, but Sherlock was all he had. Mycroft has no real friends of his own, and is constantly conscious of the manipulations of people and policy in all of his work interactions. Sherlock needs Mycroft - to keep an eye on him, to make sure he can work with the police, to protect him. He always has. But now that Sherlock has John he really *doesn't* need Mycroft anymore. Mycroft is happy for Sherlock but deeply gutted for himself. Lonely, purposeless, job-is-great-but-doesn't-cut-it Mycroft. Maybe even thinks there's not much point in sticking around alive anymore, sometimes. Make someone notice this. Make Sherlock deduce, and come up with answers that make no sense. Make John wonder where all the suspicious black cars have gone. Make them help Mycroft?

Surprisingly, it was John who first noticed that things weren’t as they had been. In recent weeks there had been a decided decrease in the number of unmarked black cars appearing from nowhere to pick him up off the street and sweep him off to wherever Mycroft was waiting for him. When he brought it up with Sherlock, the detective had simply shrugged and mumbled something along the lines of how relieved he was that his brother had finally stopped smothering him. It didn’t quite sit right with John though. Why would Mycroft cut back on surveillance of Sherlock so suddenly? It was completely out of the blue (rather like Mycroft who had a rather unnerving habit of appearing out of nowhere) but why would he break the habit of a lifetime in watching over his younger brother for no apparent reason. For someone like Mycroft, it didn’t make the slightest bit of sense.

John was right of course. It didn’t really make sense but Mycroft didn’t particularly care as to whether or not his actions were making sense or not. When his surveillance team had first reported the fact that Sherlock had a new flat-mate, Mycroft had immediately pulled all of the files that he could on a certain army doctor, which amounted to all of the files that existed with regards to Dr John H. Watson. When he could find nothing to immediately concern him, he had arranged to meet Dr Watson and had been highly delighted with what he had discovered about the man. He was exactly what Sherlock needed and the following months had proved that over and over again. Therein lay the problem. As the months passed, the partnership between Sherlock and John had strengthened and solidified until Mycroft was left feeling decidedly superfluous.

It was a very unsettling feeling. Being seven years older than Sherlock he had grown used to being needed by Sherlock very early on and it was something that had never really gone away. When they had been much younger, Sherlock had practically idolised Mycroft and the elder Holmes had actually enjoyed that. He had _liked_ being needed. No, that wasn’t quite correct as he was needed to do his job but he wasn’t needed by Sherlock, by his family anymore. He found it rather amusing in a rather strange sense that for all his claims that he was a sociopath, no matter how high-functioning, it was Sherlock who had friends and people around him while Mycroft was completely alone.

If you wanted to get caught up in the technicalities then he was never really alone, as A was always at his side, but he always felt alone. He always had done he supposed, if he was honest with himself. At school he had kept himself to himself, though he had never been as isolated as Sherlock but both in his later years at school and later at university he had acquaintances and useful contacts rather than friends. That had continued once he had started his work and, truth be told, he had become even more isolated. With the work he did, so much of his time was spent travelling all over the world but always in the shadows, always conducting his business covertly or behind closed doors. When he was in London, once again he was always in the shadows or permanently in meetings subtly controlling everything going on around him, the true power behind the British government. The precise nature of his job makes it difficult to make friends, particularly among his acquaintances as many of them did work of a similar nature to himself and he knew how these people’s minds worked, knew what they excelled in.

Manipulation.

Mycroft and the few others like him (of which there were very few and none of them had the same level of intelligence or competence as Mycroft and none of them were as important) all excelled at manipulation. They were all experts at weaving their webs, subtly manoeuvring things in the right direction, manipulating people into saying the right thing at the right time, telling people what they wanted to hear. They were all _too_ expert; you could never be truly certain that what you were being told was the truth or simply what they wanted you to hear. That was most definitely _not_ what Mycroft wanted from a friendship.

~*~

Mycroft managed to push his thoughts to the back of his mind in order to deal with the French presidential visit as they always teetered on the knife-edge between success and disaster. His thoughts took a darker turn, spiralling towards depression when certain new facts came to light. He really wasn’t surprised when Sherlock and John moved their relationship beyond that of simply friends, colleagues and flatmates into one of lovers. In his opinion it had been inevitable from the very beginning. In fact he was highly delighted as he had despaired that Sherlock would ever find anyone who could put up with the slightly eccentric young man long enough to cultivate a relationship with him. The problem was that Sherlock’s newly discovered domesticity simply brought home to Mycroft the extent of his loneliness.

Until he had met John Watson, Sherlock had never wanted to be in a relationship with anybody, he simply wasn’t interested. Mycroft was the complete opposite. He desperately wanted someone to share his life with, somebody to help relieve the tedium of day to day existence. He wasn’t holding out much hope. He was already in his forties and hadn’t been in a relationship, serious or otherwise, for the entirety of his adult life. He was aware that Mummy (completely over the moon about Sherlock and John) had resigned herself to the fact that Mycroft would never bring anybody home as a lover or a partner, just as Mycroft himself had. Just because he had resigned himself to it didn’t mean that he was happy with it though.

The problem was that there was no way to change the course that he had found himself on. He had never been attracted to women but his attraction to men was kept on a strictly need-to-know basis with only four people “needing to know” with those four consisting of Mummy, Sherlock, A and John. It wasn’t that his sexuality would cause problems, he just liked to be as private as possible. He wasn’t a social animal, he never had been although he did enjoy spending time at his club when he could. He just didn’t have the opportunity to meet people and interact with them in a social setting and the men that he knew already he was most definitely _not_ interested in. Besides, if he were ever to meet anybody then whoever it was would have to understand just how important his job was to him, how much he enjoyed it and accept the fact that he often had to leave at a moment’s notice. He would never compromise his job for anything. He supposed it was a good thing that he loved his job so much as it was pretty much all he had. He supposed that Sherlock still needed him to occasionally smooth things over with the police but even those instances were ever diminishing with the constant presence of the immensely capable Dr Watson. The good doctor had even persuaded Sherlock to start eating and sleeping more, well he spent more time in the bedroom but Mycroft really didn’t want to think about what his little brother was doing in said bedroom.

His own diet was going rather well he mused to himself. Although he supposed that was more due to the fact that he had lost interest in almost everything beyond his work. He had had a tendency to comfort eat when he was younger during times of high stress and when his thoughts had taken a depressive turn occasionally whilst at university and during his first few years working for the government. Despite Sherlock’s jibes, he had managed to retain an iron-clad control over his diet that never slipped but recently he hadn’t had to maintain that control as he had simply lost his interest in food full stop. He knew that on some level he should be concerned but then he was so unimportant compared to matters of state.

He wasn’t that much of a catch anyway, not when you compared him to Sherlock and Mycroft, despite being the elder of the Holmes brothers had had a lifetime of being compared to Sherlock. Unassuming where Sherlock was flamboyant, unwilling to show just how intelligent he was to perfect strangers and taking more after Father than Mummy it wasn’t all that surprising that people’s gazes slid straight past him to Sherlock.

~*~

With Mycroft having backed off with the whole ‘Big Brother is watching you’ routine in recent months, John was thoroughly surprised to return home from the surgery to find Mycroft sat on the sofa at 221b, particularly seeing as Sherlock was down at Scotland Yard. Falling back on the good old-fashioned British fail-safe of tea, John retreated into the kitchen to hide his shock at Mycroft’s appearance. The man was impeccably dressed as always but something just didn’t seem right. The tailored suit that normally fitted like a glove seemed to hang off Mycroft’s frame and his face was drawn. It was just so out of place for the normally so in control Mycroft. He desperately wanted to say something but didn’t know where to begin. Instead, he brought the cups of tea out to the living room and sat down opposite Mycroft in the chair that he had claimed for himself the first day that he moved into Baker Street, silently trying to catalogue the things that seemed different about his lover’s brother. He hadn’t got very far when he heard Sherlock’s footsteps on the stairs and the man himself appeared in the doorway. To a casual outsider, Sherlock treated his brother the same as always but John noted the changes; the slightly widened eyes and the way his jibe about Mycroft’s diet lacked his usual viciousness. As always, Mycroft didn’t stay long but when John tried to get Sherlock’s thoughts, the detective had flung himself on the sofa with a single utterance of “Thinking” so John pulled out his mobile, texting someone he could trust for honest advice.

_In need of some advice. Up for a pint later? John._

(~*~)

That night over a pint in the Crown and Sceptre, John couldn’t help but spill his guts out to the sympathetic and willing ear of Greg Lestrade, grateful that he had a friend who knew Sherlock but didn’t really know Mycroft and could be objective when it came to giving advice. He was positive that Sherlock was worried about his older brother, even if he didn’t really show it or even show it at all. He’d gotten better at reading Sherlock since they had become lovers and he was happier that they were stepping onto a more even keel between the two of them; it had been more than a little frustrating when Sherlock could read John like a book and he hadn’t had a clue in return.

“What the hell’s this all about John? It’s not about Sherlock is it?”

“No, thank god. It’s not about Sherlock; it’s about the other Holmes.”

“The other Holmes? There’s another one of them?”

John nodded, slightly incredulous that the Inspector wasn’t aware of anything. “Sherlock’s older brother. Mycroft Holmes? He sometimes turns up at crime scenes when you’ve called Sherlock in.”

“The attractive one in the three piece suits with the umbrella?” John stared as Greg got rather flustered. “Um, never mind; just tell me what all of this is about.”

John frowned slightly but started talking, only pausing briefly to take long draughts of his pint until he had finished explaining everything. When he had finished, his eyes were drawn to the way that Lestrade was fidgeting, something highly unusual for the detective.

“Greg, what’s going on?”

“It’s just that this all sounds rather familiar.”

“This sounds serious. Let me go and get another round in.” Thankfully there wasn’t a queue at the bar and John was back within five minutes bearing two fresh pints. “Have at it then.”

“I can’t say for certain but it sounds as though it could be similar to what happened to me when my ex-wife divorced me. You come to the realisation that the only thing you have is the job and as much as you love it, it’s never enough. You feel lonely, purposeless and in your darkest moments you wonder if your only option is suicide.”

John’s head snapped up; were things really that bad for Mycroft? He needed to speak to Sherlock now.

~*~

As soon as John returned home and relayed this new information to Sherlock, everything slotted into place for the consulting detective. He was on his feet and pacing the living room in an instant.

“Of course, everything makes sense now.”

“Sherlock. Explain.” John reached out and snagged Sherlock’s wrist, pulling him to a standstill. “You know that my brain doesn’t work as quickly as yours.”

“Lestrade was right about Mycroft. How could I be so stupid? I can’t believe that I didn’t see it before. You need to tell me everything that Lestrade said ... word for word. Come on John, think!”

John couldn’t help but smile as Sherlock raked a hand through wayward black curls. It was his agitation and the way that he was focused upon this as though it were a case that told John what he had already known; that despite their bickering and the fact that they barely tolerated each other’s presence, Sherlock truly loved his brother, just like John and Harry. Taking a deep breath he started to recite his conversation with Lestrade verbatim. By the time he had finished, Sherlock was slumped in his chair staring into the distance over his steepled fingers so John went with the ultimate fail-safe; a cup of tea. He returned to the living room, mug of steaming hot tea in each hand, just as Sherlock turned on him with a piercing gaze.

“You’re positive that Lestrade said he found Mycroft was attractive?”

“What? Yes, I’m positive.”

“Good. This may just work.”

“What may work? Sherlock, what are you planning?”

“It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with, John. Let’s retire to bed.”

~*~

It was an incredibly smug Sherlock who dragged John into a doorway at what he deemed to be a safe distance from the crime scene, smiling indulgently when John couldn’t quite smother his giggles. They stood there and watched as the police cars drove off taking the attending officers with them although the unmarked car that Lestrade and Donovan used more often than not stayed exactly where it was as the inspector and his sergeant tied off a few last ends with the SOCO’s before they got in their van with the evidence as Donovan drove off leaving Lestrade stood at the crime scene. John’s eyes widened as a familiar black car swept past them and parked less than five feet from the waiting detective inspector. Both men watched with curiosity as Mycroft exited the car, resplendent as always in one of his perfectly tailored three piece suits with his ever-present umbrella and Lestrade’s face lit up.

John looked up at Sherlock. The younger man’s face was a blank mask but there was a satisfied glint in his eyes. John didn’t comment but swung his attention back to what was going on not too far away. He focused on Mycroft, pleased to see that Mycroft looked much better than he had at that meeting at Baker Street.  He watched in amazement as Lestrade crossed the distance between the two men and kissed Mycroft. Just when he didn’t think he could be any more surprised, Mycroft dropped his umbrella _actually dropped it_ as he wrapped his arms around Lestrade’s neck and responded with the kind of passion that, had John not been involved with Sherlock, he would never have thought either of the Holmes brothers capable of. Tearing his eyes away from the highly respected Scotland Yard detective inspector and the man who was categorically _not_ the British government making out like teenagers, he looked up at Sherlock as realisation dawned.

“You’re behind this. You set Greg up with Mycroft.”

“Well it solved two problems as far as I was concerned. Hopefully Mycroft won’t be as insufferable now.”

John rolled his eyes and leant up on tiptoe to press a quick kiss to Sherlock’s lips. “Would it kill you to be happy for him? I know you care about him really.” He smiled. “Besides, I think you deserve a reward for being nice to your brother. Come on.”

(~*~)

Lestrade opened one eye and watched the duo disappear down the street, smiling at the number of supposedly innocuous touches Sherlock bestowed on John. He slowly started to trail kisses along Mycroft’s jaw as he spoke.

“They’ve gone, thank god. As grateful as I am to him for getting us together, I don’t really want your brother to watch us snogging.”

“Do you have to use that word? It’s so unref... uhm.” Mycroft’s complaint disappeared as Lestrade found that sensitive spot just behind his ear that had a tendency to make him incoherent.

“We’ll see how much you care about being refined when I get you home tonight.” Lestrade grinned at the blush that crept up Mycroft’s neck, delighting in how easy it was to get the man to respond especially considering how controlled he was the rest of the time. “Do you have any more meetings tonight?”

“No. Why?”

“Because I’m going to take you out for dinner. The Chief Super’s been raving about some Italian restaurant.”

“What about my diet?”

Mycroft protested but he could hear how weak his protests were as Lestrade started to trail a hand up and down his spine, causing Mycroft to melt into the solid chest in front of him. He had been wary at first when Sherlock had set them up at a dinner together and then left but by the end of an incredibly enjoyable evening, he had found himself happier than he had been in a long time. that dinner had turned into coffee the following day which had turned into lunch and by the end of their third meal together, Mycroft had been taken aback when he had been kissed outside the restaurant before being put into his car. Their relationship had progressed from there.

“Sod your diet.” Lestrade rumbled deep in his throat as he nipped his way down Mycroft’s throat before kissing him again. “You’re bloody gorgeous as it is. If you’re that worried about it then I’ll be more than happy to help you work it off after I take you home later.”


End file.
